Other people's heartache
by Bookjunk
Summary: Stiles has taken it upon himself to cheer Derek up over the summer.
1. Walking to Oblivion

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 1: Walking to Oblivion**

'I'm bored,' Stiles complained. He rubbed the back of his head against Derek's couch and slumped further down. There was something digging into his ass, so he plunged his hand deep into the couch cushions and fished a tiny branch – or root; could've been a root – out from under him, but neatly put it back where it belonged when Derek glared.

'How is that my problem? Go bother Scott.'

Stiles shook his head. Like a dog that comes in from the rain and is out to ruin a new carpet. Not that Derek owned anything new or even remotely resembling a carpet.

'Scott doesn't have time for me. He's too busy with Kira. Wanna go see a movie?' Stiles asked. Derek didn't answer that except by snarling. Stiles sat up straight and held forth.

'The way I see it you have three options. One: you come with me to a movie. Two hours tops and you'll be rid of me. Two: I stay here, I think I can swing until one a.m., telling you all about why the last season of Battlestar Galactica is not as bad as everyone says it is. Three: you rip my throat out with your teeth.'

There was a slight pause and then the inevitable, 'I like three best.'

Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled down his collar to bare his throat. No reaction. He beckoned invitingly; turning his throat to the left and to the right. He could see that Derek was thinking about getting up menacingly. Eventually, Derek sighed.

'Pick a movie.'

'Alright!' Stiles exclaimed, flipping through his phone. He paused to look up at Derek.

'Do you like Tom Cruise?'

'No.'

'Okay, not that one then.'

'We'll decide there. Let's just get going before I realize how much I don't want to do this,' Derek suggested. Stiles nodded. Not once, like a _normal_ person, but a couple of times. He couldn't help it. Not acting like an insane person: really difficult to achieve. Derek got up with an epic groan and grabbed his car keys.

'I thought we could walk?' Stiles said. 'You look like you could do with some fresh air and sunshine and exercise. Not that you don't look fit... We're walking.'

And so it came to pass.

When they arrived, Derek looked tired. Odd; since it wasn't that far. Stiles ordered two tickets for Oblivion. If Derek gave him shit, he'd just point out that if it had been up to him they would have checked beforehand what was being shown.

'It's the only movie that still has tickets available,' Stiles explained, smiling apologetically. Well, this was awkward. He didn't have enough cash. Derek produced his wallet and some sarcasm on the side.

'I wonder why that is.'


	2. Oblivion

_Author's note: Reviews are super welcome._

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 2: Oblivion**

Ten minutes into the movie.

'Well, this sucks,' Stiles admitted.

'What did you expect? It's a Tom Cruise movie,' Derek snapped. Stiles launched into a whispered, but spirited defence of A Few Good Men. Derek reacted by mocking his taste in movies and hopefully suggesting that they leave.

'I paid good money to see this,' Stiles protested, gripping his armrests to signal that he had every intention of staying.

'Correction: I paid.'

'Shush.'

The minute they'd spend arguing had apparently made them miss some vital information, because Stiles was absolutely unable to follow the movie any longer. After another few minutes he was ready to walk out too, but when he looked to the side he saw that Derek had fallen asleep. Convinced that Derek was screwing with him, Stiles watched him for a while. No dice. Derek was really asleep.

Who did that? Who fell asleep during a movie? Old people did that. I guess if you are tired, Stiles tried to reason. Except, what did Derek have to be tired about? As far as Stiles could tell, he didn't do anything. He just sat in his apartment. He didn't go out and rarely let anyone in. Stiles was the exception and he was pretty sure that this had more to do with his habit of standing on Derek's doorstep talking non-stop until the door opened than with Derek actually _wanting_ to let him in.

While he was studying Derek's face, Stiles realised that Derek was starting to look more and more like Kristen Stewart. He had dark, purple circles around his eyes. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent. Also, he had a near permanent expression of boredom on his face. Lately, even his insults were incredibly weak; when he mustered up the strength to deliver them. Something was obviously wrong.

Stiles decided to let the guy sleep through the movie. It was the least he could do. He kind of wished that he could do more to help, but he didn't know what. Racking his brain for clues, Stiles glanced at the screen. Some more convoluted stuff was happening.

He focused his attention on Derek again. I should be more proactive, Stiles thought. Okay, physical needs. People needed air. Derek had that. People needed to eat and drink. Stiles was going to make certain that Derek did that. Regular, nutritious meals. Lots of water. People needed sleep. Derek was maybe getting too much of that? Unless he didn't sleep at night. That also wasn't good, but Stiles had no idea how he would go about fixing that, so he shelved that for the time being.

Next. Mental/spiritual needs. This was kind of hard to figure out considering he didn't know what exactly was wrong with Derek. Stiles repressed the urge to demand to know what was going on. Knowing Derek, yelling 'I want the truth!' at him would not have the desired effect. Derek would probably clam up.

In Stiles' completely not medical and not professional opinion, Derek needed to have fun. What was fun for Derek, though? Stiles pondered that until the credits rolled. He waited until everyone had left and then he nudged his sleeping friend awake. Derek managed to look more exhausted than he had going into the movie.

'How was the movie?' he asked.

'Eh,' Stiles responded, pretending that he hadn't been busy plotting to take over Derek's life. It was time to put his poorly conceived plan into action.


	3. Tuning in

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 3: Tuning in**

Derek's idea of a warm welcome:

'You're here again? Do you spend _any _time at home?'

Instead of being offended by that less than enthusiastic greeting, Stiles headed straight for the fridge. Not counting a jar of rancid mayonnaise and a wilted leaf of lettuce, it was empty. No wait; there was something in the back. The something moved. Stiles slammed the fridge shut and shuddered.

'When was the last time you looked in there?'

Derek gave him an uncommunicative stare. Stiles started to open and close kitchen cabinets. There was nothing edible. Unless you were a goat. Goats ate everything. Fact.

'That's it. You and me are going grocery shopping,' Stiles announced. Derek sighed. If Stiles had a nickel for every time Derek sighed when he suggested something then he would be an incredibly frustrated rich man by now.

'Can't you do it alone?' Derek asked. There was a note of petulance in his voice that was completely unlike him. It unsettled Stiles.

'Sure,' he responded with forced cheer. 'But I'm not going to. You're coming along. Resistance is futile.'

It was like taking a moody teenager somewhere. It took Derek about an hour to put on a pair of shoes. Shoes! An hour! And he bitched in a monotone the whole time. Stiles tried to remain patient, but he was getting pretty annoyed.

Was this an act? It had to be an act, right? No one was really this unengaged, this _lethargic_. Since they'd started to hang out, Stiles had not seen Derek show the slightest degree of interest whatsoever. He simply didn't seem to care. About anything. Stiles found this profoundly disturbing.

They made their way to the store without incident. Stiles threw stuff into a basket. Derek shuffled along. Stiles did his best to involve him in the act of buying food, but Derek was not cooperating.

'Tell me if I'm forgetting something,' Stiles urged. Derek nodded listlessly. At the checkout counter, Stiles piled everything on the conveyor belt and had an epiphany. Maybe a little danger would snap Derek out of his vegetative state. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of trouble available standing in the checkout line at the supermarket.

On second thought... There was a huge guy at the front of the line. He was holding everyone up by talking to the checkout girl. Stiles listened. Their conversation was more harassment than seduction. It was almost too perfect. Stiles waited until the guy opened his mouth and some more grossness came out. The checkout girl cringed.

'Spoken like a true dick,' Stiles said loudly. The guy turned around and honed in on him. His knuckles didn't scrape the floor, but it was close.

'Stiles, what are you doing? Don't piss off guys twice your size,' Derek hissed. He seemed less sluggish already. It was working.

'Why not? You're here,' Stiles replied, smiling.

'Do you have a problem with me?' the guy grunted. He was smiling too. He hadn't noticed Derek yet.

'We all have a problem with you. Stop bothering her and pay for your groceries,' Stiles advised. The guy took a step towards him. Derek tensed. Now the guy noticed Derek. For the first time in a long time, it felt to Stiles like Derek was really there. He was in the moment. Aware. Alert. He was finally operating on the same frequency as everyone else.

Once the Neanderthal suddenly decided that paying sounded like a good idea after all, though, the signal immediately wavered. The line started to move and soon it was their turn.

'Thanks,' the checkout girl said. Derek wasn't about to respond, so Stiles did.

'You're welcome.'

'Do you want my number?' she offered. It was directed at Stiles. Surprised, he glanced at Derek. Derek's eyes were glazing over again. Time to throw another spanner in the works, Stiles decided. Anything to wake Derek up.

'We're together,' Stiles explained, gesturing at Derek. The girl coloured and then offered them a tentative smile. Derek blinked, frowned and gaped all at the same time. When they were outside the store, he confronted Stiles. There was no shoving, mostly because there were both carrying groceries. Otherwise, there probably would have been shoving.

'What was _that _all about?'

Stiles shrugged.

'I didn't want her to think that I only stood up for her because I wanted to get in her pants,' he explained. Stiles watched as Derek processed that. It was so nice to have the old Derek back. If only for a while.

'You could have just said that,' Derek pointed out.

'And miss out on the hilarious face you made? I think not!'


	4. Haunt

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 4: Haunt**

One week later.

'Have you eaten yet?' Stiles suddenly piped up.

'When am I supposed to have done that without you noticing?' Derek snapped. He's got a point there, Stiles had to admit. He'd been at Derek's since the early afternoon and Derek had not moved a muscle except to get up and let him in.

'I'm hungry. Do you want to order a pizza?' Stiles proposed.

'I don't know. Am I allowed to have pizza?' Derek inquired sarcastically. This was the first indication Derek gave that he had noticed that Stiles was monitoring his food intake and trying to keep it on the healthy side. That was a good sign. Still, Derek was letting it happen. That was a bad sign.

'You're grouchy because you're hungry,' Stiles surmised. 'Some fast food will clear that right up. I'm assuming you have some takeout menus stashed away here somewhere?'

He didn't wait for an answer before going through some drawers. Most of them contained nothing. Derek had more furniture than stuff to put in or on it, which was quite an achievement, since he hardly had any furniture to speak of. Stiles threw open the nearest closet and stopped in his tracks.

'You have a TV. And it's a _beast_! Seriously, it's like a portal into another world. It has to be at least a 65 inch,' he said, gaping at the flat screen with something akin to awe. He petted it. His hand came away covered in dust.

'Cora bought it. There's a DVD player too,' Derek remarked, barely glancing up from the spot on the wall he'd been staring at for hours. At that point, Stiles was dragging the TV out of the closet.

'Well, I'm gonna put them to good use,' he replied, struggling. He tried to lift the TV. It wasn't happening. The problem wasn't that it was too heavy – though it _was_ heavy – but that its shape was ungainly. It was so big that Stiles couldn't really figure out how to hold it. He strained to get his arms around the device. When he realised that there was no way to get a decent grip, it was already too late. He'd hoisted the TV up and it was now resting on his knees. He could feel his fingers start to slip. It was either going to fall forward and shatter or slide back and crush him. Neither option particularly appealed to Stiles.

'Derek, I can't...' he grunted. Expecting zero help, Stiles resigned himself to his fate. The TV teetered and toppled. Its momentum was halted by two strong arms.

'Let go,' Derek demanded. The 'idiot' was implied, but Stiles could live with that.

Three days later.

'Stop me when I show you one that you don't completely hate,' Stiles instructed, holding up each DVD in turn. They went through them all without a word from Derek. Stiles didn't bat an eye. He simply started at the beginning again. Eventually, Derek broke down and picked a movie at random.

Stiles popped the DVD into the DVD player and flung himself onto the couch. He settled into a Stiles-shaped dent. It felt super comfortable. Less comfortable was how close they were sitting – by necessity; Derek's couch wasn't that big. It was strange to be within kissing distance of Derek without Derek objecting.

'Do you miss her? Cora?' Stiles asked out of the blue. It took a long time for Derek to respond and when he did it wasn't an answer at all.

'Aren't you due back home soon?'

'Nope, I'm all yours,' Stiles said, deciding to ignore the _that's none of your business,_ _fuck off_ attitude. It was Derek's natural state.

'Great,' Derek croaked and turned to face the screen again. Being around him was hard for precisely this reason. Derek was all negativity all the time and it got Stiles down. It also got him angry, but he was afraid that if he blew up Derek would finally throw him out and that would be the end of it. So, he took a deep breath and rallied his spirits.

'Let's talk,' he suggested.

'We don't talk.'

'What do you mean? We talk all the time. About really deep stuff too. _Deep_, man. In my head,' Stiles joked. Derek didn't react, so Stiles shut up. His overall approach wasn't as successful as he'd hoped. For one, it was getting harder and harder to get Derek out of the apartment. All Stiles' brilliant ideas involving outdoor activity had a habit of getting unceremoniously shot down. If he could just get some clue about what was going on.

Derek wasn't going to tell him. That much was clear.

Feeling kind of hopeless, Stiles looked at Derek. His head had fallen to the side. His cheek was squashed against the couch. Even so, he looked a lot better asleep than he did when he was awake. Probably because your face is supposed to be blank when you're sleeping.

Maybe there is something in the apartment that will tell me something, Stiles thought. He got to his feet without make a noise. What was the most likely place to find something personal? Bedroom. He watched Derek until he couldn't anymore. Quickly, he dropped to his knees and swiped under the mattress. Nothing. He glanced under the bed. Nothing but dust. He rolled his eyes at the open duffle bag full of clothes next to the bed. He went through it. Nothing. He checked the nightstands. Nothing there either. The closets were equally barren.

He raked a hand through his hair and contemplated the room. That visual search yielded nothing. Eventually, because he couldn't think of anywhere else to look, he peered into the gap between the bed and the wall. Bingo. Something small was stuck there.

Smashing himself against the wall, Stiles reached into the narrow space. The mortar and brick scraped his skin, but he managed to get his fingers around one corner of the object. It was a book. He yanked it out, chafing his wrist in the process.

It wasn't a book. It was a notebook. Was he holding Derek's diary? Stiles snorted. Yeah, right. Curious, he opened the tiny notebook and flipped through its pages. It wasn't Derek's diary. It was something even weirder. It was... _poetry_. Stiles began to read.

_I can't help but think of you_

_In these four walls my thoughts seem to wander_

_To some distant century_

_When everyone we know is six feet under_

_When all of our friends are dead and just a memory_

_We'll lie side by side_

_I don't want to rest in peace_

_I'd rather be the ghost that annoys you_

_I hope you can make me laugh_

_Six feet down when we're bored of each other_

'Stiles, the pizza is here. It's your turn to pay,' Derek shouted. Stiles started. He stared at the notebook in his hands. Derek will kill me if he catches me with this, Stiles realised. Panicking, he did the first thing he could think of. He pocketed it. Derek came in and eyed him warily.

'What are you doing here?'

'Snooping, of course,' Stiles confessed. A little truth always went a long way. His gaze landed on the duffle bag. He gestured at it. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

'Are you going camping?' he improvised. 'I mean, is this for real? You're almost literally living out of a suitcase.'

'You smell guilty,' Derek said.

'I feel bad for letting you have pizza twice in one week,' Stiles replied. That – again - wasn't entirely a lie.

'Hey, am I gonna get paid or what?' the pizza guy yelled. Once Stiles had paid him, Derek had devoured a slice and was working on a second. Stiles smiled and, to his surprise, Derek returned the smile. There was not a trace of sharpness in his smile.

That, right there, was why Stiles kept coming back. That was what made his effort worth it. Those rare moments when Derek roused himself from his stupor and it seemed like he actually appreciated his company. Unfortunately, those moments were few and far between. Meanwhile, Stiles had to sit at an awkward angle, because the notebook was burning a hole in his pocket.

(***)

_Author's note: I am terrible at writing poetry, so I have borrowed some. It comes from the song 'Skulls' by Bastille. The story title comes from one of their albums and the chapter titles are song titles also from Bastille._


	5. Laura Palmer

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 5: Laura Palmer**

The next day.

It was warm. Unpleasantly warm. Stiles spent a few minutes after dinner just lying on his bed. Pretty soon, his shirt clung to his back. Making a disgusted noise, he got up, took a shower and changed into his fifth clean shirt of the day. He checked his watch. Derek wasn't expecting him back until seven p.m. and it wasn't even six yet. Stiles sighed.

He read the notebook from cover to cover again. He checked his watch. Fifteen measly minutes had passed.

'Fuck it,' he mumbled. Like Derek would care if he showed up early. Stiles tossed his painstakingly selected DVDs into a bag and took off.

18:38

The door to Derek's apartment was ajar.

'Derek?' Stiles whispered, easing the door further open with his foot. He peeked around the corner. He couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary, so he stepped inside. A cursory check of the apartment revealed that nothing was out of place or disturbed. The only thing that should have been there and wasn't was Derek. And he couldn't have gone far without his phone or his ridiculous duffle bag full of clothes. That was reassuring.

Resisting the urge to snoop some more, Stiles made a neat stack of the DVDs. He was really looking forward to watching Twin Peaks again. Or, as he liked to call it, the show that makes Beacon Hills look like an ordinary town. He nestled into his usual spot on the couch and waited.

20:57

Stiles couldn't control his feet and fingers. They were tapping up a storm. When he also started to make a nervous back and forth movement with his torso, he decided that he'd had enough. Quickly, he wrote a note.

_Am out looking for you. Call me as soon as you get in._

_Stiles_

After a moment of consideration, he added a _please_ at the end of the second sentence. He felt queasy. That might have been the heat. Yeah, probably, Stiles thought.

He went to the woods first. That made sense, right? It was where you went if you wanted to be alone. And who wouldn't want to be alone if some stupid kid was forever forcing his company on you? Stiles shook his head to get rid of that idea. It suddenly occurred to him that Derek's disappearance might have something to do with the notebook he'd taken. Except, it had been wedged in between the wall and the bed's headboard. That seemed less hidden and more forgotten. And why, when nothing else mattered to him, would Derek give a shit about an old notebook anyway?

22:43

Anyone, let alone a werewolf, would have heard Stiles stumbling through the underbrush from a mile away. He had broken out into a cold sweat. He felt sick to his stomach and was becoming increasingly jittery. I'll never find him, he thought. Realising that he was on the verge of having a panic attack – and that he would be useless if that happened - Stiles called Scott.

'Derek is missing.'

There was a pause at the other end of the line, during which Stiles started the hike back to the car.

'What do you mean?' Scott finally asked.

'I mean that I was supposed to meet him at his place and I went to his place and he was not there. That was four hours ago. I'm freaking out, Scott.'

'I can tell. Do you think he could have forgotten?'

'I guess. But he still would have been at the apartment. He's always at the apartment.'

'Okay, not gonna ask how you know that. I'm just gonna remind you that Derek can take care of himself,' Scott pointed out. Normally, Stiles would have agreed. Right now, though, he didn't know if Derek _wanted_ to take care of himself.

'And I hate to say it, Stiles, but maybe he simply left again,' Scott added, sounding sorry for having to suggest it. Stiles shook his head, forgetting for a second that phone conversations didn't work that way. He was surprised by his own certainty. Wherever Derek was, whatever Derek was doing, he wasn't gone.

'No, he hasn't,' Stiles finally said.

'Do you want me to help you look for him? Scratch that. Where are you? I'll be there as soon as possible.'

Stiles smiled, feeling much calmer. Talking to Scott usually had that effect. Stiles' composure crumbled when he arrived back at the road and saw Derek standing at the other side.

'I found him,' Stiles told Scott.

'My offer stands. If you want me to come, I'll come.'

'No, thanks. I've got this,' Stiles answered. He ended the call. Derek looked fine. It was his smell that worried Stiles. Derek smelled sweet. At first, Stiles thought that it was alcohol. It wasn't. It was something stronger, but equally chemical.

'Stiles,' Derek called out. Then he tried to cross the road without looking. And, wouldn't you know it, a car was right there to remind him why that wasn't a good idea. Stiles couldn't move. He could only watch as the car sort of softly tapped Derek's hip. The driver didn't brake or even slow down. Derek spun, wobbled and as if in slow motion dropped to his knees. After looking left, right and left again as he was taught, Stiles hurried over to him.

He helped Derek to his feet and off the road. Inconspicuously, Stiles also tried to check his pupils. Did drugs make your pupils dilate or did they turn them into tiny pinpricks? Different drugs probably do different things, Stiles reasoned. Derek's pupils looked normal. Yet, he was definitely on something.

'Jesus, Derek. What are you doing?'


	6. Get Home

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 6: Get Home**

'What am I doing? I am... I'm exercising my rights,' Derek announced. His speech wasn't slurred or incoherent, but he didn't appear to have it entirely under control either. The volume shifted back and forth between whispering and yelling.

'I seriously doubt that what you did tonight can legally be called a right,' Stiles observed. He so very much wanted to chew Derek out for scaring him, but that wasn't exactly a priority right now.

'Are you in any pain or is your werewolf healing taking care of it?'

'I don't feel anything,' Derek droned.

'Let's get you home,' Stiles suggested. Derek balked at that.

'Which is where? My empty apartment?'

'Your apartment is gonna stay that way if you don't buy stuff to put in it. That's how living somewhere works,' Stiles remarked. He slung Derek's arm over his shoulder and started the walk back to the car. Luckily, it was a short walk, because it was rough going. The anxiety had absolutely exhausted him and all that stumbling around in the woods hadn't helped either. Plus, at least Derek had _tried _to be accommodating that time at the pool. This time around he was wholly uncooperative.

'Never mind,' Derek muttered. It was the faint trace of bitterness that alerted Stiles to the fact that they weren't simply talking about furniture. Irritated, he dropped Derek's arm and quickly snagged it back when Derek threatened to fall over.

'You are not alone!' Stiles protested. 'You keep pretending that you are, but you're not and you know it.'

They kept walking – well, Stiles was walking and Derek was doing his best imitation of a sack of flour – until Stiles realised that Derek maybe needed to have that statement clarified, since he insisted on being an idiot.

'I mean myself, by the way. I'm always there. So, your apartment isn't empty in that sense either,' Stiles added. At that, Derek lifted his head and his eyes seemed to focus on the Stiles' face. As best as they could, anyway. His eyes were bright instead of the dull shine Stiles had gotten used to. Stiles couldn't decide whether this was better or worse. Probably worse.

'Yeah, you _are_. Why? I don't get it. I don't get why you came looking for me.'

Stiles didn't roll his eyes, but, boy, did it take an effort. Just a minute ago, he'd been worried sick and now he was mostly annoyed again. It was amazing how Derek had that effect on him.

'Shut up, Derek,' Stiles huffed, managing to infuse his voice with more concern than exasperation, which was definitely not how he felt. Arriving at the car, Stiles propped Derek up against the side of it while clumsily extracting the car keys from his pocket. They drove without speaking.

At Derek's apartment, Stiles repeated the manoeuvre. After tugging Derek out of the car, Stiles held him there, pressed against the side of the car, while he locked it. Inside the apartment, Derek shrugged off his support and miraculously made it to the couch. Stiles got two bottles of water from the fridge and nearly emptied one. He set the other bottle on the table before Derek.

'Try and sleep it off, okay? I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Don't go,' Derek responded. Stiles tilted his head, because he couldn't believe this request.

'Why not?' he asked. A full minute of silence followed.

'I'd miss you,' Derek finally replied in a sugary, singsong tone of voice. It was super creepy. Suddenly, he smiled.

'Fuck you,' Stiles retorted, smiling too. He meant it, but it came out more like, 'ah, you lovable rascal!' Really though, fuck Derek for saying that while he was out of it or wired or whatever he was. Turning away from Derek, Stiles phoned his dad.

'Hi dad. Yeah, I'm at Derek's. Hey, I think I'm gonna stay here tonight, is that alright? No, nothing's wrong. Probably around noon tomorrow. See you then. Good night.'

Stiles hung up and turned around. He approached Derek, weary at the thought of having to drag him into the bedroom.

'Can you make it to the bed alone?' Stiles hopefully inquired.

'You take it,' Derek offered. Stiles must have looked pleasantly surprised – which he _was_, since it was the first genuinely nice thing Derek had said or done all week – because Derek immediately shrugged.

'I don't care,' he added.

'You do or you wouldn't have offered,' Stiles pointed out.

'I mean, I don't care where I sleep, so you might as well have the bed.'

On that uplifting note, Stiles retired to the bathroom. He peed quickly. He took off his soaked shirt and washed his face and hands. He tried to get as many twigs out of his hair as possible. Briefly, he considered taking a shower, but in the end he didn't dare. God knows what kind of trouble Derek would get into in the time it took to shower.

When Stiles entered the bedroom, he stopped at the sight before him. He hadn't given much thought to where Derek would sleep – though the couch was obviously not long enough – but hadn't expected it to be on the floor next to the bed. Derek was lying on his back, bare-chested, with his arms folded beneath his head.

'You want a pillow or something?' Stiles asked. Derek shook his head and closed his eyes. Breathing unevenly, Stiles got rid of his shoes and socks and pants. As quietly as possible, he slipped underneath the covers. He stretched out and tried to find the most comfortable sleeping position. He found himself gravitating towards the side of the bed where the chance of tripping over Derek in the middle of the night was the highest.

It was weird. Stiles was still phenomenally tired, but he knew that he was not going to sleep a wink that night. What was even weirder was that he suspected that Derek could close his eyes all he wanted, but he wasn't going to get any rest either.


	7. Tuning out

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 7: Tuning out**

The next morning.

The temperature was about the same: an oven set to baking. Stiff from a night of tossing and turning in an unfamiliar bed, Stiles peeped over the edge of the bed. Derek was still in the same position. The only difference was that he had given up all pretence of sleeping and had opened his eyes.

'Get up,' Stiles ordered. 'We're gonna have a talk.'

Without waiting to see if Derek would follow, Stiles exited the room and started to prepare breakfast. He began by taking a carton of yoghurt out of the fridge and retrieving a bowl from one of the lower cabinets. He was in the middle of pouring the yoghurt into it when a bleary eyed Derek shuffled out of the bedroom. His half nakedness – light grey cotton elastic-waisted pyjama bottoms; nothing else - was highly distracting.

'Care to explain about yesterday?' Stiles asked, replacing the carton and adding a layer of muesli to the yoghurt. In the fruit and vegetable drawer – which, thanks to Stiles, actually contained both – he spotted some luscious red strawberries. He chopped them into pieces as Derek sat down. Stiles glanced at him. Derek was not there again.

'Got it out of your system?' Stiles inquired, raising his voice. Derek startled and scowled as if by instinct.

'What?' he muttered.

'I don't know. You tell me,' Stiles replied. He sprinkled the strawberry pieces into the bowl and got a spoon out of the cutlery drawer. He gave the whole concoction a good stir and slid the bowl towards Derek. Derek immediately started to eat. Stiles strongly suspected that this had less to do with Derek being hungry and more with having a handy excuse not to respond. It didn't matter. Stiles could do the talking.

'Look, you don't have to tell me. I'm probably better off not knowing, but it might be good for you. I know that sounds like I've gotten it from a TV show. Pop psychology 101: talking about your feelings helps. It's true, though. It's something about the sharing, I guess. Maybe your pride is standing in the way?'

Stiles paused there to see if Derek would take the opportunity to confirm or deny. Derek didn't, so Stiles continued.

'If you told me, I wouldn't be Stiles. I would be like just a random person and I could say that it's alright or that it's gonna be alright or whatever you'd want me to say. You know, something sort of vague and meaningless which is still somehow comforting. I think I could manage that. I'd maybe pat your back if you'd allow me and I'd say, 'there, there.' See, that means nothing, but it's kinda nice to hear, isn't it? At least, I always think it is. I mean, I don't know why you'd care what I think...'

Stiles faltered when he saw that Derek was barely paying attention. Derek still showed no signs of opening up anytime soon. Instead, he seemed to be closing down. Maybe what he needed was not TLC, but the gloves off approach.

'Okay, your bullshit ends right here. What the hell is going on with you? Tell me or I'll... keep talking. You know I'll do it,' Stiles said, suitably stern but not overly harsh. Well, that was quite possible the lamest threat ever, he thought. Under normal circumstances, going off on Derek would be relatively easy, but since reading the notebook Stiles found it nearly impossible. It was difficult to berate a guy when you knew he'd written stuff like: _every day I wake up hoping to die. _Derek trembled. It was a short, violent shudder.

'You're trembling,' Stiles observed. 'Why are you trembling? Are you cold?'

'No,' Derek replied with such vehemence that Stiles immediately dropped the subject.

'Derek, come on. I know this is not about me, but it's killing me to see you this way.'

'Why?'

'Why? _Why?_ Will you stop it with the stupid questions? Because I care! That's why.'

(***)

_Author's note: 'Every day I wake up hoping to die' is a snippet of the lyrics from the song What would you do? by City High (covered by Bastille)._


	8. Free

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 8: Free**

'Touching,' Derek scoffed. 'What else have you got? Is caring about me by any chance an up-at-dawn, pride-swallowing siege?'

Stiles didn't know how to respond, because, yeah, that was kind of what it was like. Also, what Derek had said sounded familiar somehow. Derek went on in a similar vein.

'And, let me guess, I should help you help me?' he proposed in his most insincere tone yet. It was the emphatic hand gestures accompanying the words which clued Stiles in to the fact that Derek was quoting Jerry Maguire. Stiles thought he'd better stop him before he switched movies and got to the galactically stupid speech from A Few Good Men.

'You can ease up on the sarcasm. You had me at touching,' Stiles joked. What else was he supposed to do?

'Oh, good for you,' Derek sneered. Stiles narrowed his eyes.

'What's with the hostility? Am I getting too close?'

'You're _always_ too close,' Derek interrupted in a strained voice. He sounded absolutely serious. It floored Stiles. For the first time, he considered whether he might be contributing to the problem instead of helping. Maybe while he was trying to make things better he was actually making things worse.

'Do you want me to come over less?' he suggested. In all likelihood, leaving Derek alone for an extended period of time wasn't a good idea either, but Stiles had run out of good ideas long ago, so maybe it was time to try out the mediocre to crappy ones.

'I... Yes,' Derek admitted.

'Then you've gotta step it up. Yesterday a guy with a mullet could have gotten a call to come scrape you off the road like a squirrel. If you want me to come around less often, you will have to make an effort to fix whatever's wrong,' Stiles bargained.

'I promise to do that,' Derek said. It was pretty easy to read him. Probably because he was so worn out. He was telling the truth.

'Okay, deal. As a show of good faith, I'll even leave my key,' Stiles acquiesced. Confused, Derek studied the key that Stiles handed him. Stiles patiently waited for him to catch up.

'This looks like the key to my apartment. You had a key made? Without telling me? And you're sure that I'm the one with problems?'

'Yeah, I am. See you tomorrow.'

'See you next week,' Derek countered. Stiles cocked an eyebrow.

'You realise that that's the same thing?' he inquired. 'Today's Sunday.'

'See you next Sunday,' Derek quickly amended.

'That's seven days from now,' Stiles protested.

'I know how many days there are in a week, Stiles,' Derek replied. He looked determined not to give. Less is more, Stiles reminded himself.

'Will you be okay?' he asked. The question appeared to annoy Derek disproportionally.

'I'll cope,' he snapped. It wasn't funny, because it was true.

'That's the problem. You're not supposed to_ cope_ with life,' Stiles explained. It was so messed up that Derek didn't get that suffering wasn't meant to be a person's natural state. The guy was a wreck.

'I was kidding,' Derek claimed. That was a lie. Stiles shook his head to signal that he didn't buy it for a second. Derek averted his eyes. There was nothing left to say. Stiles wanted to give Derek a big hug to last them both a week, but managed to keep his hands at his side.

_Do this and you won't have to put up with me for a while. _It was kind of an awful bargaining chip to possess. Whatever. As long as it worked.

'See you next Sunday.'


	9. Poet

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 9: Poet**

Day five. Friday.

Keeping his promise was proving to be harder than Stiles had thought. Still, he was persevering. He was kicking ass. Never mind that he hadn't slept properly for about, oh, say, five nights in a row. Never mind that every time he had to go out for anything he drove by Derek's place. Never mind that he was going crazy with worry and all that. Adversity was totally his bitch.

Stiles looked at the clock, then at the calendar, then back at the clock. He sat down at his desk and thumbed through the notebook.

'What are you reading?'

Stiles spun in his chair around, slowly, so as not to give away how much Scott had startled him.

'Oh, nothing,' Stiles mumbled. Calmly, he put the notebook away – but not too far away. Not as if he was trying to hide it, because that would arouse suspicion. He was rocking this casual shit. Or, so he thought, until Scott plucked the notebook from his desk. Stiles jumped up and attempted to get it back. Unfortunately, Scott was faster, stronger and determined. He held Stiles off without any discernible difficulty.

'Obsession it takes control. Obsession it eats me whole,' Scott read aloud. He raised his eyebrows before continuing.

'I can't say the words out loud, so in a rhyme I wrote you down. Now you'll live through the ages. I can feel your pulse in the pages.'

Stiles knew by heart what came after that.

_I have written you down_

_Now you will live forever_

It reminded Stiles of this other poem they'd talked about in class once. Something about how poems might be remembered, but the people the poems were about would be forgotten.

_The sleek throat is gone._

Yeah, that had been in there. That was a good line. Memorable. At the end, though, the poet had tried to put the object of his affection into words anyway. Or maybe he'd tried to capture a moment in time. Poetry was not Stiles' thing, but he remembered those lines.

_I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair  
And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders  
And a leaf on your hair—_

Meanwhile Scott was beginning to sound more and more incredulous.

'Your body lies upon the sheet? Of paper and words so sweet? I can't say the words, so I wrote you into my verse? What's this? It's not your handwriting. Whose is it?'

'It's Derek's,' Stiles admitted. Scott was so surprised that Stiles managed to snatch the book away. He immediately dropped it into a drawer. There. Safe.

'He doesn't know I have it, so don't tell him,' he added. However, Scott wasn't there yet. He was still at the Derek-Hale-writes-poetry processing stage.

'_Derek_ wrote that?'

'Yeah, who knew, right? It's pretty good too. I mean, there's the typical doom and gloom you'd expect from a sour wolf, but there's also that. There's a ton of similar stuff.'

'Sounds like he's really into her,' Scott said.

'I'll say.'

'There's no name?' Scott asked.

'Sadly, no. And, believe me, I've looked,' Stiles responded.

'Paige?' Scott suggested. Stiles shook his head.

'I thought so too at first, but it doesn't look like teenage Derek handwriting. It's present day Derek handwriting.'

Scott narrowed his eyes, chewed on his lip and glanced at his friend.

'You don't think that it could be Jennifer Blake?'

'Don't know,' Stiles shrugged. 'That isn't what's important, though. This is.'

If he hadn't been spending time away from Derek he never would have discovered this. You had to pause and look. Once you did that, the pattern was so obvious. He opened his closet to show Scott the inside of its door. It was covered with post it notes full of tiny scribbles. It looked like the handiwork of a slightly unhinged mind.

'Whoa, what's that?' Scott exclaimed. Stiles proudly pointed out the time line he'd created.

'It's a chart I've made of Derek's decline. The notebook was a big help. My theory is that the obsession poem, the one you just read, is the first one he'd written. Well, in this notebook at least. The poems get progressively less lovey-dovey. You can clearly see the depression seeping in,' he explained.

'Is this what you've been doing all summer?' Scott asked.

'Yeah. Pretty much, yeah.'

'Dude, you have to give it back. The notebook. Wherever you got it from, you have to put it back as soon as possible. This is a gross invasion of Derek's privacy,' Scott said.

'I know. I just thought that reading it might help. 'Cause I don't know how to get to him. I say something and half the time it's like he doesn't even hear. The only time he seems to come alive is when I get on his nerves. I hoped the notebook would help me understand him a little better. But you're right. I have to return it. I will,' Stiles agreed. He didn't want to. He'd kind of gotten attached to it.

'Okay. Good. So, you think that Derek might be suffering from depression?'

Stiles nodded. The symptoms fitted. He had started to see some of Derek's previous behaviour in a different light. Like the night he had taken so many drugs that a normal human being probably would have OD'ed. Had that been a suicide attempt? Or, that same night, when he had stepped in front of a moving car. Had that been? Or when he had wondered out loud why Stiles had gone looking for him. At the time, Stiles had thought that Derek was just being an idiot, but now he was considering whether that had been a serious question. Did Derek really not get why someone would go looking for him? Stiles wasn't sure.

They were silent for a moment.

'Why didn't you ask me for help?' Scott finally asked.

'I think, because... No, I didn't think. I didn't think of it. Stupid, huh?'

(***)

_Author's note:_

_Derek's poem consists of the lyrics of the song 'Poet' by Bastille and the poem Stiles remembers is 'Not Marble Nor the Gilded Monuments' by Archibald MacLeish._


	10. Weight of Living, pt I

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 10: Weight of Living, pt. I**

Day six. Saturday.

Stiles poured over the notebook again. It was his last chance to do that since tomorrow he was going to have to put it back where it belonged - wedged between the wall and Derek's bed. He left it lying on his bed while he made a few small adjustments to the chart. Satisfied, Stiles nodded and closed the closet door.

'Gah!'

That was the noise that came out of his mouth when Derek emerged from behind the door. Instinctively, Stiles glanced at the notebook. He didn't mean to, but his eyes seemed to be drawn to it. As soon as he realised what he was doing he averted his gaze, but it was already too late. Derek had seen it. He went from zero to fury in less than a second.

'Is this fun for you?' Derek growled. 'Reading about other people's heartache? Did you and Scott have a good laugh at my expense?'

'It isn't like that!' Stiles insisted, giving Derek as wide a berth as possible and closing the notebook.

'You've got a lot of nerve,' Derek choked out.

'I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have taken it. I'm an asshole. There. I said it,' Stiles stammered. It didn't seem like the kind of apology Derek would accept. Honestly, it wasn't much of an apology. _I know I shouldn't have taken it, but I did it anyway_. As far as apologies went, it sucked.

'How much did you read?'

Stiles thought about lying, but decided to tell the truth. After all, that's all he wanted from Derek too.

'Everything. About fifty times,' Stiles admitted. 'Like I said, I'm an asshole.'

Derek groaned.

'For the record, and in my defence, I didn't show it to Scott,' Stiles explained. 'He caught me reading it. And we didn't laugh about it either. And it's not like I even know who the girl is. Seems to me that maybe if you told her how you felt you'd feel a little bit better? I mean, assuming you haven't already, of course.'

Derek didn't facepalm, but it was close. His hand didn't quite reach his face. It was like half a facepalm.

'You're a freaking moron. Stop making this worse. Give me that,' he ordered. Stiles handed the notebook over. Derek tucked it into the back of his jeans.

'I'm sorry. I am. But, well, it gets so hard to talk to you. What was I supposed to do?' Stiles asked, attempting to justify his behaviour.

'Leave me alone?' Derek drily suggested. Stiles shook his head.

'I can't do that.'

'Why the hell not?' Derek demanded.

'Because you're not okay!' Stiles shouted. His sudden outburst stunned Derek into silence. Stiles slowly calmed down enough to elaborate.

'You're probably the strongest person I know and you're not okay. Alright, Derek? You're not okay. And I don't understand why you won't let me help you.'

Derek was on the verge of saying something – something meaningful; Stiles was sure of it – when he said this instead:

'I'm fine. Everything's fine.'

Stiles lost it.

'Oh my God, you're so annoying! How can I make things _worse_ when they're fine? Yeah, that doesn't make sense, huh? Listen, I know that you're used to doing things alone. But that's not working, now is it? So, let's just... Let's just talk. You've gotta start somewhere. Why don't you start by talking to me and we'll see what happens. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me how you're feeling. Tell me why you're carrying this sadness around.'

'I don't feel anything,' Derek said. And there they were again. Stiles was getting so tired of going around in circles and ending up at denial. Every. Single. Time.

'Did you not hear me when I said that I've read your notebook? Don't pretend you're not feeling shit,' he snapped. Derek's face hardened. He took a step towards Stiles. Stiles resisted the insanely strong urge to back away and stood his ground.

'Okay, I feel,' Derek mocked. 'I feel that if someone had punched you in the face the first time you stuck your nose where it didn't belong then we wouldn't be having this fucking conversation. That's what I feel.'

'Seriously?' Stiles exclaimed. This was ridiculous. Derek was _still_ lying. He wasn't angry. He was only pretending to be angry to get Stiles to back off.

'Yeah. In addition, I feel like I want to be the person to finally teach you to mind your own business. I really feel like that. I really feel like punching you right now. You think you know how I'm feeling? You have no idea. You think that I don't act grateful enough for your pity? Fuck you,' Derek snarled. He took another intimidating step towards Stiles, probably thinking that Stiles would back down. Not this time, though. Stiles was done being pushed aside. He was done being kept at a distance.

'Don't scare me off now,' Stiles warned. There was an edge to his voice that almost made it sound like a threat.

'I'm just trying to be your friend,' he added, softening his tone. Derek dismissed that without a second thought.

'I don't want you to be my friend.'

There wasn't really anywhere to go from there. Except...

'Fuck you,' Stiles said, clearly articulating each word. He wanted to take it back immediately, especially when Derek nodded in response. He looked smug. As if Stiles had given him exactly what he expected. Damn! This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

'I didn't mean that...'

'Don't come over. I won't open the door anymore,' Derek announced. Stiles couldn't think of a snappy comeback. His brain appeared to shut down. This was it. He had fucked it up. He had tried everything and nothing had worked. Derek was miserable and there was nothing he could do. This was it. Stiles recovered just in time to give a message to Derek's retreating back.

'I'm going to be your friend whether you want me to or not.'


	11. Weight of Living, pt II

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 11: Weight of Living, pt. II**

Day seven. Sunday.

Stiles didn't think that Derek was going to let him in with the way things were between them, so he decided to pick the lock of the apartment. It wasn't like he hadn't broken this particular law before – breaking and entering – but he was still way more nervous than before. He didn't know what he feared more: Derek being there or Derek not being there. I won't touch anything if he isn't there, Stiles vowed. I'll just wait and rehearse my apology, he mentally added. Since their fight was at least half Stiles' fault, he had composed the best apology ever.

Derek wasn't there. That was a relief. It was also weird. Lately, Derek hadn't left the apartment unless physically removed from it. So, this could be good or bad. Odds were stacked against the former.

Stiles snuck a quick peek into Derek's bedroom. The duffle bag with clothes was gone. Stiles gasped. He was fully aware that his reaction was bordering on the melodramatic, but... shit. He searched the apartment and ended up in the bedroom again. The bag was nowhere to be found.

Derek was gone. It wasn't the worst thing that could have happened, but it was definitely up there.

Feeling winded, Stiles sat down on the bed. The panic attack was in full swing before he figured out what was happening. He clawed at the sheets. He tilted his face towards the ceiling and opened his mouth as wide as he could. That didn't help. His heart was pounding like it was going to short circuit. His breaths were coming fast and hard. It didn't feel like there was any oxygen in the air he was sucking into his lungs, though. Black dots danced in his peripheral vision.

Somewhere far away a door opened and closed.

It wasn't long before he started to sweat. The instinctive drive to take in air caused him to breathe faster and faster to no avail. He slid off the bed. He was on his hands and knees when he began to cry. Oh, Jesus, don't do that, that makes it worse, he thought, but he was unable to make himself stop. His nose was starting to fill up with snot.

_I'm gonna die_ was his next uplifting thought. That was not going to happen. Stiles knew this. He also knew that the more he struggled, the more his throat would tighten. Rationally, he knew all this. Emotionally, physically, he couldn't help straining for air.

There was the sound of something being dropped on the floor.

'Stiles?'

Stiles felt a hand on his back. He looked up to see Derek's face floating in front of him. He's not gone, Stiles thought. He repeated that in the tiny head space he had left that was not occupied with his body attempting to shut down. Not that this did anything to mitigate the scheduled shutdown. So, naturally, Stiles decided that now was the perfect time for a joke.

'You know... last time... this... Lydia, she... kissed me... so... you know...'

'That's not an option,' Derek drily replied. The heat of his hand was kind of soothing. Derek's proximity, instead of twisting Stiles' nerves like a windup toy like it usually did, had a calming influence. Everything gradually slowed down. Once his heart rate had returned to normal, Stiles pushed away Derek's hand. Derek didn't appear to take offense; he seemed mostly confused.

'Was that a panic attack?' he asked.

'Yeah, it was and you caused it, you douche**!** I thought you'd split without saying anything,' Stiles ranted, pointing accusatorily at the duffle bag at Derek's feet.

'It's laundry day,' Derek explained, almost sheepishly. Stiles waited for more, but nothing came.

'And that's it? That's all you want to say to me?' Stiles demanded. Derek shrugged.

'Okay,' Stiles muttered angrily, making for the door.

'No, wait.'

Stiles sighed and turned around.

'Why?' he asked. 'What is it you want from me? You don't want to talk to me. Not about anything real, anyway. And why should you? I only care. But you obviously don't give a shit. You certainly don't act like it.'

He paused, so that Derek could say something. Total silence. Wearily, Stiles eventually continued.

'I get so tired of trying to save you, Derek. I don't know why I try. I mean, I'll keep doing it, but it's like you do and don't want me around. Make up your mind.'

'I don't...' Derek said, choking up halfway through the sentence. The sudden emotion caught Stiles off guard. Derek closed his eyes and exhaled.

'I don't know. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me.'


	12. Overjoyed

**Other people's heartache**

**Chapter 12: Overjoyed**

'You're depressed,' Stiles said. Hallelujah, he thought. He felt happier than he had in ages. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, he knew. Unfortunately, they still appeared to disagree about what exactly was the problem.

'I'm not depressed,' Derek snapped. 'Being depressed requires emotions. I lack emotions.'

'You're in love. That's a feeling.'

'No, I'm not.'

'Okay. But you've got this sadness...'

'There's no sadness, Stiles. That's all in your head.'

'But your poems...'

'We're not gonna talk about them.'

'Why not? I think they helped me understand you better. _There's a hole in my soul. I can't feel it._ That's…'

'I can't fill it. That's what it says: There's a hole in my soul. I can't fill it.'

'Your handwriting is a little… Anyway! So, you feel empty,' Stiles concluded, happy that they'd finally identified the problem. Derek shook his head.

'I don't _feel _anything.'

Stiles thought about that. He thought about Derek realising that something was wrong with him. He thought about Derek deciding to talk about it. That could mean that Derek wanted help. And that in turn implied that Derek didn't enjoy the way things were.

'That's only a problem if you want to feel something,' Stiles pointed out. Derek nodded, but didn't seem inclined to expand on that.

'Well…?' Stiles prompted.

'Maybe this is not as easy for me as it is for you,' Derek admitted. He punctuated that by calmly punching the wall with his fist. Plaster crumbled. With a straight face, Derek hit the wall again. And again. And again.

'Stop it! You're scaring me,' Stiles shouted. He pulled Derek's suddenly slack hand towards him and inspected the damage.

'Idiot,' Stiles angrily muttered, moving his fingers over the skin of Derek's hand. He is lucky that he is a werewolf or he would probably have broken every bone in his hand with this bullshit, Stiles realised.

'I can't... I don't know how I got here. I don't even know why. And I'm not good at having emotions or not having them and talking about that,' Derek explained. Stiles - his fingertips still probing and sliding over Derek's knuckles - looked up.

'Don't worry. We'll figure it out,' he said gently. Something wary flashed in Derek's eyes and he yanked away his hand with such force that Stiles almost fell over.

'What's in it for you?' Derek demanded.

'You're so cynical. I'm your friend. There are no ulterior motives. I just want you to be okay.'

'Why?' Derek asked. It was as if Derek was always asking the same question and each time it got harder for Stiles to formulate an answer that wasn't 'Because I love you.'

'Because... That's just how I feel.'

'I've got nothing to give,' Derek warned.

'That's alright. I don't expect anything from you,' Stiles replied easily. That much was true, at least. He wanted everything, but he didn't expect anything. He would take this one-sided friendship if it was all that Derek had to give.

(***)

Author's note: _There's a hole in my soul/I can't fill it_ are lyrics from the song Flaws by Bastille.


End file.
